Stan by me
by ellylilly-pcmh
Summary: Richard goes to church every day since the young Mr. Crawley died. One day he finds Isobel, and he can not do anything other than offer her his help and support, his love - Many thanks to Ben E. King and to his beautiful "Stan by me" for the Inspiration.


_**- Badly quoting Gandalf, "So it begins, **__**the great battle of our time". My first attempt to write something set after the Christmas Special... but I'm not really sure about what I wrote! Perhaps it will also have a second chapter, we will see together. And thanks to the song "Stand by me" for the inspiration. Some songs are just perfect for Richard and Isobel. -**_

_**- For Martina, who is still a little bit angry with me ;) -**_

* * *

He entered silently in the small church of Downton village, taking off his hat and moving some small steps to the altar.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God_ Church. There was something terribly ironic about the name.

He had never been a very religious man, he mused, taking in the soft light of the sunset warmly colouring the church from the historiated windows, his jobs and the horrors he had witnessed during the Boer War had somehow drawn him away from God. He found it hard to believe in something good when he saw suffering and pain everyday. He found it hard to believe in a mercy God when something so horrible happened to someone so good, kind and gentle as her.

But there he was, in the modest church, the same church where, only a year and an half before, she had stood proudly watching her only son getting married to the woman he loved, where just the month before his funeral was attended. There he was, as almost every late afternoon after the penultimate shift since young Mr Crawley's death, praying with all his heart for her, for her health and her happiness, if she will ever be happy again. Asking God to help her, asking nothing for him, begging to be able to take some of her pain from her, when he perfectly know that he had no right to, but nevertheless hoping desperately to be able to. Asking the Lord above to be strong enough to help her whenever and however she needed to, if she ever had allowed it.

And there she was, in her black dress, her light hair tidily pinned up, her jointed hands covered by black gloves, her black hat and veil covering her face as she prayed, kneeled on the front row; but not where the Crawley family usually sat, on the other side of the small church, as she wanted to drew herself away from them. Making her look even sadder and smaller, desolate in her deep grief.

He looked at her carefully, worried, both from the medical point of view - he was still her doctor, after all, and from the human point of view, what he felt for her hasn't changed, nor would ever change, despite her refusal.

He had not seen from the funeral of her son, and what little he knew about her health, about the form of depression that he feared was consuming her in her loneliness, he had heard from Lady Mary when he went to visit her and her child, the new heir of the house of Grantham, _her only grandson_.

He knew she almost surely wanted to stay alone praying and, ignoring his brain shouting at him to go to her, hold her and help that wonderful woman, he stood back towards the main door, hurting a bench with the heel.

The bump resounded loud in the silence of the church, and her head snapped up, turning quickly to him. Richard opened his mouth to apologise, but in the same instant she lifted the light veil from her face, revealing her pale skin and deep eyes. Her eyes flashed angrily for the interruption and he simply stood stricken, taking in her sad yet beautiful appearance, his hat in his hands, waiting uncomfortably. Then she seemed to recognise him and a small smile graced her lips.

"Dr Clarkson."

"Mrs Crawley," he managed a polite smile as she quickly wiped her eyes with her handkerchief - so white that it almost hurt the eyes after all that black, "I'm very sorry, I did not been to interrupt or disturb you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she moved some steps in his direction, leaving the pew and staggering dangerously. He closed the space between them in a moment, holding her elbow to help her to steady herself, studying her in the meantime. She was pale, too pale, with angry black marks under her eyes, as she hadn't sleep for days, and he was quite sure about it. She was thinner, he can saw it in her now pronounced cheekbones, and everything about her seemed to be made of fine glass, as she was ready to break in a thousand small pieces. He vowed to himself to be there for her when it happened, no matter what. He just hoped she would let him help her.

He sighed worried, a little bit to loudly, and she heard him. Touched by his evident concern for her, she locked her gaze with his and smiled again, softly, squeezing her eyes.

"I'm okay. I just need fresh air."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded silently, drawing deep, even breaths, leaning a shaky hand on his chest to steady herself, her lips slightly parted, closing her eyes, frowning. Richard hoped she could not feel his accelerated heartbeat, and he chided himself for his reaction and thoughts about her in such a situation. So sad yet beautiful, so small and fragile...

"Do you fancy a walk out the village?" she asked suddenly, looking out of the church from the big door.

"If you feel sure about it... yes, of course."

Isobel smiled slightly her gratefulness at hi in the middle of the aisle of the small church and slowly held up her left hand for him to take.

Richard nodded, returning her sad smile, and nestled her small hand in the crook of his arm, leading her across the aisle and out of the church, trying to ignore his brain telling him that it was perfectly natural, beautiful. To walk her down the aisle and then out of the church.

* * *

He had let her choose the path to follow and she had led him through the fields around Downton without hesitation, walking silently among the trees and the bushes, following a small path, walking surely as she knew it by art. And now they were standing on the top of a small hill, Downton and its big Abbey behind them, with their burden of memories and pain. In front of them, a glorious sunset was showing all its beauty, and in the reddish light she looked a little bit more at her ease, more relaxed, more alive. Her brown eyes were dancing looking at the dying sun, and he thought there was a new light in them. All the while, he was well aware of her hand on his arm, her grip firm on his sleeves.

"This was our place, you know," she suddenly murmured with a sad smile, "Matthew and mine."

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and withdrew gently from her, suddenly feeling an intruder. Isobel sensed it and she leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder, "We walked up here when he wanted to discuss something important. Here he complained about the Crawleys when we first arrived at Downton, here he admitted he loved Lady Mary and months later told me he had broken their engagement, here he talked about Lavinia to me, here he cried for her death... here we talked about possible names for his first baby, my first and only grandchild." she sobbed her last words, crying for the first time ever, covering her mouth to stop the sobs. He had never seen her crying, not even at the funeral, and somehow seeing her finally did it now made him feel better. She needed it. She needed to let everything out, nobody, not even her, was that strong.

With a deep breath, Richard moved his arm to hold her shoulders and let her cry quietly, half-slumped against his side, still gazing at the horizon. Then, she spoke with such a small voice that it broke his heart.

"I was wrong about us."

Richard stayed silent, wandering why on earth she thought she was wrong about her and Matthew; they were so perfect together, no, they had been perfect together, and she had loved so much her son, and now everything was gone forever.

Isobel sniffed and withdrew from his side; catching the hand he had just left falling from her shoulder with her movement.

"I was so horribly wrong about us." a small pause, then, "About you and me."

He froze and Isobel felt it, his arm suddenly rigid near hers, his grip on her small hand almost painful.

Richard carefully throw a glance at her, but her eyes were fixated somewhere very far from there, but nevertheless she was talking about the two of them, her face expressionless, her body motionless.

"Mrs Crawley?" he ventured, his voice low, not daring to hope, his heart already aching. What if he had heard wrong, understood wrong... "Isobel?"

It was the first time he called her by her Christian name, and it provoked in her a surge of adoration towards him.

"Stand by me." she murmured, returning his squeeze, not looking at him but still admiring the burning horizon, the bright sun setting, leaning on his side, "I won't cry. I won't shed a tear. No more."

Finally, Isobel looked up at him, her deep, puffy for crying yet beautiful brown eyes burning into his blue ones, "Just as long as you stand by me."

Richard smiled sadly and took her hand, caressing her back softly, trying to keep at bay the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him, "You need to cry. You must do it," he murmured, letting his medical interest in her to take over, "You need to let it out."

Isobel nodded unwillingly, as a nurse she knew he was right, how many times did she tell the same things to the relatives of a deceased man? She patted his chest with her free hand, her eyes absent, "Will you be there?"

"Will you let me?" he saw the insecure look in her now down-casted eyes and smiled, gently taking her chin and raising her head, "You can cry with me, you can scream and let your pain out. I won't tell anyone, not even if the Dowager Countess forced me."

A small chuckle escaped her lips at his joke and her warm breath brushed against his lips, sending a shiver down hi spine. She was practically in his arms, as he had often dreamed of, and she needed comfort, help, someone with whom she could really be herself, now that her son was gone. Within himself, he was sure that she needed a person who loved her unconditionally; someone to be there for her always, whenever she needed. A person who could also see her fragile and sweet side, not only the resolute and courageous one.

He wanted to be that person. He wanted to be the one here to love and help her. And she needed to know it.

"Isobel..." he brushed his pads on her cheek, brushing away her tears, "I love you."

"I know," she whispered back, her parted lips only millimetres from his, "I know..."

He kissed her softly, slipping his arms around her waist, his hand tangled in her hair, cradling her head, being careful not to ruin her knot. She moaned softly, and pressed herself against his chest, holding on his jacket.

It was right, he mused, it was better than in his dream, kissing the woman he loved in the sunset. A little bit _cliché_, perhaps, but when he felt her small hands on his neck he decided that, _cliché_ or not, he would enjoy and remember those moments as the most perfect of his life. Carefully, so to not scare, he nibbled at her lower lips, asking access and her permission, and she granted it with a soft sigh.

Then, suddenly, she let out a strangled sob and he withdrew sharply, sure to have overstep his boundaries, to have ruined everything, "Isobel, I'm sorry, I-"

Isobel shook her head, forcefully, "No! No, it's just... it's... I don't want... I don't want to be alone," she looked at him, her eyes full of pain, "I didn't think I was able to feel this away after... after..."

"I know…" he drew her again in his arms, "It's alright, I'm here; you're not alone."

"I wasn't supposed to feel this good again, to feel alive again..."

"Isobel-"

"Help me. I need you," she breathed quickly and raised her fingers to his face, "I love you, I-"

Richard kissed her again, taking her face in hands, brushing away her tears. When they broke apart, he simply held her to him, caressing her back and rocking her back and forth; her quiet sobs resounding against his chest.

"Stay with me... Richard..."

He slowly lifted her head to look straight in her eyes, love and adoration in his ones, "I'm not going anywhere, my darling."

Isobel nodded, clung at its reverses "Take me home," she whispered against his throat, looking down, her hands now on his forearms, his ones holding her firmly by the waist, her forehead on his chin, "Stay with me tonight."

* * *

_**- Yep, I think it needs a second part… Ideas? R/R please, cheers! -**_


End file.
